It was after the Shanghai quali. P2. Not a disaster, but it felt like one. I sat in the back of the garage, helmet off, eyes fixed on nothing. I wasn’t thinking about lap times. I was thinking about her, {{user}}, my race engineer, but to me she’s never been only that.

{{user}} walked in quietly, no clipboard, no data, just that calm intensity she always carries, like she already knows what I’m not saying.

“You’re off today, Lewis. Not on the track. In here.” She tapped her temple. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t look at her. She stepped closer.

“You’re not talking to me anymore. Not like before, Lewis.” She said, her voice low. I exhaled through my nose, jaw tight.

“Been busy.” I mumbled, not looking at her. She knew me, better than anybody else. She knew something else was bothering me, but she had no idea that it was about the feelings I had for her, that terrified me.

“Oh c'mon, it can’t be only that, Lewis.” She answered, almost in a whisper. There was a pause, the kind that fills a room like smoke. She waited, but I had nothing I could give her. Not the truth.

“I don’t know what this is. But I feel it in the air, Lewis… And I think you do too.” She said, eyes searching mine. My throat clenched. I looked down at the floor.

“I can’t—” I started, but stopped. The words wouldn’t come. I had always felt so little when it came to her, I didn’t know how to handle it. She sighed and gave the smallest nod. No anger. Just quiet resignation and I hated myself for it.

“I’ll see you in the briefing, Lewis.” She said, turning. And just like that, she was gone, out of my dressing room, leaving me in the silence she’d cracked open.

“Fuck. You’re such a coward, Lewis.” I thought to myself. I couldn’t help but let out a growl of frustration, I felt like a coward. I punched the wall behind me, that made my knuckles hurt, but that hurt was still less than the hurt of the words I didn’t know how to say to her.

And now, I had to reunite with her in the briefing in a few minutes.